To Dream of a Highlander(20)

He offered the leather skin again and she grasped it and smiled her thanks. She had little appetite or thirst but she needed to keep up her strength if she was to survive the coming days. Her body ached from a day’s riding. Ensuring some distance remained between her and Finn made her arms hurt. Eventually she gave in and rested upon his back, but tension riddled her thighs from so long in the saddle.

Already, she had nearly let slip the truth behind her identity. It took much concentration to remember she was meant to be her sister. She glanced at the fair warrior as he eased off his boots and stepped into the stream. Finn bent, scooped a handful of water and scrubbed his face before doing the same with his hair. Rivulets of water skipped down his throat and she watched their journey until they disappeared under his shirt. His hair, darkened by the water, rested over his shoulders, dampening the linen. A small braid behind his ear, bound by leather, begged to be played with.

Catriona dropped her gaze as he caught her eye and smiled, but there was no fighting it. His strong jaw, graced with stubble, a slightly long nose and intense blue eyes all drew her attention. On his bottom lip, a small scar caused her fingers to tingle as the odd urge to trace it teased her. She watched him, unable to tear her gaze away, and prayed he did not think her strange.

She should not be thinking it—not after what she had been through—but the man had somehow charmed her. No doubt a man like Finn found it easy to charm the lasses, but why had she succumbed so easily? If she allowed her thoughts to dwell on the previous days’ events, a well of terror would threaten to break through her restraint, and yet around Finn she felt safe and at ease.

“Drink then, lass.”

Catriona blinked and stared briefly at the flask in her hands. Ach, but she must appear a fool. Taking a quick drink, she gasped as fiery liquid—and not ale as expected—burned down her throat and simmered in her stomach.

“’Tis mead?” she asked breathily.

“Aye. Good for keeping ye warm.”

She nodded. The mead worked quickly into her muscles, making them loose and the heat flowed through her. Now she was expecting it, she took another swig and savoured the sensation, but when she went to take another drink, Finn tapped her shoulder.

“We just want ye warm, Katie. Not senseless,” he teased.

Catriona couldn’t resist returning his smile. “I shouldnae drink any more anyway. I shall fall asleep if I am no’ careful.”

“Aye, it has been a hard day’s riding.” He made a show of stretching and wincing.

She raised a brow. “Ye tease me? I dinnae believe ye found today hard at all.”

He shrugged and gave her a bashful look, one that told her he had been trying to make her feel better. “I ache a little.”

“Ach!” She laughed and his returning chuckle set butterflies alight in her stomach.

“Ye’ll forgive me that I cannae leave ye alone to bathe. Ye’ll have to settle for a light wash.”

Warmth bloomed in her cheeks. In her mind those large hands and blunt fingers were upon her, peeling away her gown and scrubbing away the grime and fatigue. Then those fingers grazed hers as he took the flask and helped her to her feet. If she glanced down would her whole body be aflame? Because that was surely how she felt. Even the bitterly cold steam failed to cool the heat within her.

They stood for a moment. Their gazes connected brashly and even embarrassment couldn’t make her look away. What did he see? She hadn’t even been able to see her reflection in the bubbling water of the stream. Did any of her beauty shine through her bruises and grimy skin? And why did she care?

Flustered, she tugged her hand away and scooped up some water, bringing it up to her face. The water cooled her heated skin and gave her a moment to steady herself. Finn likely saw her as nothing more than a woman under his protection. A man doing his duty. Not to mention he thought her someone else. A day flattened against his back, feeling the undulation of his muscles did nothing to help her make sense of her situation.

Aware of Finn standing close enough for her to touch, Catriona kept her gaze on the shiny grey rocks while she dipped to scrub her feet and calves. Her gown skimmed the water but it mattered little. Already stained and filthy, a little damp would do no harm.

Smears of blood—the Viking’s blood—painted the forest green wool of her gown, drawing her attention as she snatched her skirts. Clutching the fabric until her hands ached, she willed the memories to disappear. But they would not. She could almost feel his sweaty hands upon her, smell his acrid breath and remember the pounding horror that had her convinced she was to die.

Someone put a hand to her shoulder and she squeaked as crimson liquid spilled across her in her mind. With a heavy swallow, she met Finn’s concerned gaze. He watched her intently. How much did he see? The thought that mayhap he had figured her out made her stiffen.